


Choosing You

by Darkravenwrote



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 07:53:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5448986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkravenwrote/pseuds/Darkravenwrote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry decides enough is enough. He can’t be in service any longer. And as Malfoy Jr’s valet (and lover) he knows just the person he wants to run away with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Choosing You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alafaye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alafaye/gifts).



> Sorry I’m lateeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee. I’ve been an absolute nightmare for the mods this year. Sorry lovelies. Happy holidays to all of you. Alafaye, I hope you like it :)

“You sure about this, mate?” Ron whispers, closing Harry’s door behind him quietly. Everyone else is asleep, like they should be. Only, Harry doesn’t plan on sleeping just yet, he has an escape to pull off first. Hopefully.

“I’m sure,” he says, stuffing another shirt into his bag. He won’t be using them for long - the bright salmon colour labels him ‘slave’. And there’s no point in taking Draco’s either – they’ll never be able to fly under the radar if they look like they’ve come from dinner at the Palace all the time.

“But, it’s bloody Malfoy!”

“Yeah, I know. I’m not going to be running away with his father, am I?” They both pull a face at the thought.

“Yeah, but Malfoy? Really?” Ron’s talking about Malfoy Junior, the young master. And while it’s true that to most people -- absolutely including Ron -- he’s a condescending prick with daddy issues and a stick the size of the Dark Emperor's wand up his arse, to Harry he’s just Draco. They’ve spent enough time together -- since Harry was given to him for his sixteenth birthday -- for Harry to be absolutely sure of his decision here, no matter how many doubts Ron has. Ron bulldozers on anyway: “As soon as you’re on the other side of that floo there’s more likely to be Aurors waiting for you than rainbows and green grass.”

“You don’t know him like I do.”

“I know he’s a heartless prick with cufflinks he thinks are worth more than our lives.”

“You’re not his valet!” Harry says frantically, glancing nervously at the wall separating him from Mr. Snape. “His family is like that, but he’s different. I know him. And I know you don’t approve but I can’t stay here. I’m rotting, Ron. By the time we’re twenty-five I’ll be dead inside.”

“I’m not saying life in service is perfect, but-“

They call it ‘service,’ like the old days they were taught about in school. But back then it was voluntary. Now, everyone and their descendants who were on the wrong side of the war are slaves. Non-voluntary. At least Dippy, the house-elf presiding over the downstairs in Malfoy Manor, is pleasant.

“It’s not for me, Ron,” he says, instead of saying all this. If the easiest way for Ron to carry on is in denial, then Harry can give him that. “And I’ve got a way out. I can be happy with Draco. I am happy with Draco. Can’t you just be happy for me in turn?”

“I don’t trust him.”

“The whole world knows that. Do me one favour? I said ‘bye’ to Hermione earlier, but can you just tell her I’ll miss her too.”

“Sure, Harry.” Ron edges back towards the door, his eyes lingering on I’ll see you around.”

“Probably not. And Ron, get that ring you’ve got hidden under you mattress on her finger sooner rather than later. I want you to be happy too.”

* * *

“You’re late.” Draco is waiting for him in the main lounge, staring woefully at the clock on the mantel – all of it an overly grand display of varnished wood and carved angels.

He doesn’t look up when Harry slips through the slave’s door in the brickwork by the fireplace. The entire room is bedecked in gaudy Christmas decorations. The tree reaches up to the high ceiling, filled to falling with lights and decorations and fairies floating lazily between.

“Don’t be grouchy, you knew I’d come,” Harry says, trying to lighten the tension. Draco is well known for his dramatic flair.

“Not for sure.”

“I haven’t shut up about this all month. You reckon I’d bail on you now?” He smiles and flips at his fringe, acting a confidence he doesn’t feel. Draco’s eyes fall to the empty fireplace and the full pot of floo powder in its delicately woven granite holder. “What’s up?”

“I think my father might know. He was talking about the last batch of hangings at the Palace after dinner. Traitor hangings.”

“We’re not going to get hanged, Draco.” He sighs, holding his patience -- a talent that was never his strongest to begin with. They’ve had this discussion before, more than once. Draco likes to plan for every eventuality, where Harry likes to think on his toes the way he has had to his whole life. The only problem for Draco is, they don’t know what’s going to be on the other side of the grates they go through.

“Realistically, we could. Have we really thought all this through?” They have. Endless nights and hours have gone into this. Ever since Harry first saved up his courage and broached the subject, muttering in Draco’s ear as he pecked him on the cheek one night.

“Yes. We’ve planned and plotted for the last _year_. We know where we’re going, we know how long we can safely stay there. We know the next ten stops on our list! We know who your father uses and who’s safe. We’re going to be fine! Trust me.”

“Maybe we should wait a year. You never know, maybe-“

“Maybe what? They’ll have run out of rebels and will’ve moved onto slaves?” That may have been a bit harsh, but the world Harry lives in is different to Draco’s. It is harsh and unforgiving in a completely alien way to Draco. Doing wrong for Draco results in a smacked wrist, a stern telling off, and no dinner that night like a small child. Doing wrong in Harry’s world means a trial and life imprisonment if he’s lucky. “Things aren’t going to get better any time soon. I need to go _now,_ and I want it to be with you. No one else, just you. And you’re always going on about how you need to get away from you father, you’ve wanted this as well.”

Draco moodily flicks at a tipsy fairy dancing around the Christmas tree in wide loops.

“Don’t make me do this alone,” Harry implores. Because the truth is, he doesn’t _want_ to do this alone. It’s cold out, the snow thick and empty, and he never even thought the possibility of escape could be real before Draco. It seems to do the trick though.

“No, you’re right.” Draco’s back straightens, and he sifts his fingers thoughtfully through the floo powder. The pot is wide enough for him to fit his entire fist inside. “I can’t wimp out now. I don’t want to be a coward like the rest of my family.”

He considers the floo powder in his palm, then Harry, then the powder again. Then sweeps his arm dramatically across the fireplace, letting the powder fly. “Shell Cottage,” he enunciates clearly, then hold his gritty palm out to Harry. “To a new adventure.”

They step into the blazing emerald fire together.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are very much appreciated here or at [LiveJournal](http://hd-owlpost.livejournal.com/).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Forbidden Fruit and Broken Chains](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8572006) by [KittyAugust (KittyAug)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyAug/pseuds/KittyAugust)




End file.
